More Than Friends
by Waterdancer
Summary: A loyal customer of Francie's restaurant observes her after Will and Sydney leave. Response to Eloquent Vernacular challenge, 'Eyes of a Stranger'. Implied Spoilers for Phase One.


Title: More Than Friends

Summary: A loyal customer of Francie's restaurant observes her after Will and Sydney leave the restaurant.

Spoliers: Phase One

Rating: PG 

A/N: Missing scene in the restaurant after Will and Sydney leave. Response to the Eloquent Vernacular challenge, 'Eyes of a Stranger'.  Thanks to Robin for the beta.

Disclaimer: Paul is mine.  Francie is JJ and Co's. If she were mine, things would be going  a LOT better for her. Anything Alias related is JJ's too. I make no money from this. 

*****

I can tell that they are all friends.  And two of them are a little more than friends.  I've been coming to this restaurant since its opening six months ago, and, if my memory serves me correctly, this is the first time that I've seen a smile that genuine on the owner's face.

I don't mean to stare at her—well, I never mean to stare at her, but tonight she seems different.  As the man who is her friend stands up from the table, she follows suit and they walk over to the coat rack.  He rubs her cheek tenderly, and whispers something in her ear.  She smiles and nods in response.  He kisses her forehead as the other woman, a brunette, comes over to the rack and picks up a gray wool coat.

There is some conversation between them, but as I look at the owner and this man, they seem to be in their own world.  As the brunette puts on her coat, the man looks like he doesn't want to leave, and I can tell by the owner's look—Francie's?--look that she doesn't want him to leave.  The brunette pulls his arm, and they both wave goodbye to the owner.

I turn back to the magazine lying in front of me as I drink the tea she put on my table the moment I walked in.  She doesn't remember my name, but she always remembers what I eat:  Baked chicken, salad, and tea.

As she walks by my table with a faraway look in her eyes, I can't help but to comment. 

"You should do that more often," I say as I take a sip of my tea.

She looks over her shoulder at me, and smiles. "Excuse me?"

I put my tea down and look her over.  I am caught off guard by the intensity of her smile.

"I didn't mean to misspeak, but I couldn't help but notice how you acted around that man.  Your smile is different, and you should smile like that more often, Francine.  Didn't he work here before?" I wait for her response.  Normally, I would never say anything but as often as I've been here, I feel like I know her.

"Your name is Paul, right?" she asks as she sits down in front of me.  I'm surprised that she knows my name.  It isn't like I ever speak to anyone.

"How'd you know my name?" I query. "I think we've only spoken once since this place opened."  
  


"I make it a point to remember my best customers name.  You always order the same thing: Baked chicken, salad, and tea.  I figured it was about time that I knew who you were, and you always pay by credit card." She winks as she says this, and I'm embarrassed at how predictable I've become.

As if she can read minds, she reaches over the table and pats my hand. "Don't worry about being predictable—I hear the chicken here is delicious."

My face burns as she removes her hand.  Clearing my throat, I sit back in my chair and fold my hands in front of me. "So, that man? He's a friend?"

Her face takes on that faraway look again, and I can see her light up at my mention. "Yes, he's a friend.  A wonderful friend."

"You two seemed more than just friends," I say with a tease in my voice.  I don't expect her to answer.

She blushes and looks away. "We've known each other for years, and just yesterday, we kissed for the first time.  I mean, yeah, we've kissed before, but what happened yesterday was—different, if that makes any sense."

I think back to the first time I kissed my wife, and smile.  "That's how my wife and I started out.  We had been friends for years, and one night over dinner at her apartment, I kissed her.  The rest as they is history."

"You're married?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

A wave of sadness comes over me. I haven't thought about my wife in awhile. "I used to be. She died shortly after we'd been married.  She worked in a bank, and was killed by a robber."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Paul," she says as her sadness matches mine. "Did you two have any children?"

I smile sadly in response and shake my head no. "We never had a chance."

We both sit in silence for a moment as I think of my wife, and, I assume, she's thinking of her friend.

She clears her throat and looks down at her watch. "I can't believe it's this late."

I look down at my cell phone and agree with her. "Yeah, it's pretty late." I glance around the restaurant and see that no one else is here. "Do you want me to stay with you until you're done closing up?"

She stands up from the table, and brushes the wrinkles out of her slacks. "You don't have to, Paul.  I've been here plenty of times by myself, and I've never had an issue."

"I know, but it would make me—"

"Paul, I'll be fine. I promise," she says as she holds her hand out to me.  

I walk over to the coat rack and pick up my black jacket. "Do me a favor, Francine?"

"You want coffee the next time you are here?"

She's teasing me, and I chuckle in response.  "No, just promise me that you'll keep smiling like that when you are around him.  It's rare that a man gets to see something that beautiful."

I can tell that she is pleased with my comment, and that makes me smile back at her. 

"Don't worry about it, Paul. I'm sure that I will."

We wave goodbye to each other and I leave the restaurant.  Walking down the street towards my car, I decide that tomorrow I'll try the steak.

* * *


End file.
